


My Own Lane

by CaffeinaShips



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Original Ace female character, Sort of Coffee Shop AU, a bit of a monster in the last few paragraphs, but a bit more realistic, nothing bad really happens except capitalism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-19
Updated: 2020-02-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:21:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,868
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22796998
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaffeinaShips/pseuds/CaffeinaShips
Summary: A 24 year old woman is just trying to make it through her day. Some odd stuff happens around the edges.
Relationships: None
Comments: 12
Kudos: 8
Collections: SPNColdestHits





	My Own Lane

**Author's Note:**

> I often think about how I am not cut out for a life of intensity. As much fun as it is to watch the Winchesters live the life of hunters, I also sometimes wonder about the librarians, pharmacists, and hardware store employees living lives around them.

Libby’s feet hurt. Libby’s feet always hurt. Being 24 is no damn picnic. The big paying jobs just wouldn’t manifest, but the bills never paused. Libby was proud of her cute, warm, sunny, homey apartment, but sometimes she wondered why she even had it when she was always working. She barely got to spend time in her cozy living room, or her fluffy, pillowy bed. She often felt like she was working to pay for a place she never got to be. 

Libby had the stereotypical Millennial life. She had interesting, supportive friends she never got to see because she was always poor and working. She had satisfying, enriching hobbies she never had time or money for, and she lived in a hip, artistic small city full of interesting little local shops and restaurants she never visited because she never had time or money. She put what little money she did have into well fitting clothing that looked neat and professional, and creating a comfortable environment in her home so she could enjoy the little time she had there. 

Luckily for Libby she was a customer service pro! It was easy to see why so many aspiring actors got into waiting jobs. To project a friendly warm smile and a welcoming demeanor to every single customer who came in the door was a feat of acting mettle. The key, she found, was to always look busy. Stop, make eye contact, smile, say thank you, but be sure to also be fussing around with some task so that you clearly don’t have time to chat. It was an act made easier by actually being very busy. 

It was a careful balancing act between seeming friendly but not overly available and it didn’t always work. Most days there was some overly friendly guy who couldn’t imagine she wouldn’t want to be flirted with, or some guy who would get angry at her for not seeming available enough, or some lady who would be angry about some perceived slight or other. 

It didn’t help that she was pretty. It definitely helped fill the tip jar, but it also brought a lot of unwanted conversation, and sometimes anger. On the other hand she’d seen her less attractive coworkers struggle. They didn’t get the same level of hostility and harassment, but also customers would walk right past them as if they were invisible, or speak to them as if they weren’t people. Libby came to the conclusion long ago there was no good way to be a woman in public. 

Currently Libby was being kept busy by being one employee short while working the counter at one of the few local coffee shops in town not affiliated with a chain. At least it was a slow day. Like so many quirky New England small businesses, this coffee shop was located in a repurposed brick former mill building. The exposed brick walls and polished wooden beam floors were features. The walls were hung with local art and local tapestries. The furniture pieces were picked from local consignment shops, and only a few people knew that all of the chairs were for sale. The high ceilings made for an echo-ey space. It was never empty, and never quiet. In honor of Valentines day the next day that week’s special was a lavender infused latte made with coconut milk. Libby hated it. She recommended it to everyone.

By some absolute stroke of luck Libby had Valentines day off. She hadn’t asked for it specifically, it was just her turn on the rotation. All she had to do was smile through one more shift and she would be free from the noxious smell of steaming lavender, and by the time she came back on Saturday they would have come up with some other pretentious way to ruin a cup of coffee for her to sell. 

Libby was currently running a dry towel over some dry mugs. It was one of those rare blessed quiet moments when she genuinely had nothing to do. But two guys who looked to be in their thirties had come in with an armload of books, some kind of map, and laptops. They seemed to be settling down for a longish bit of work and it was in Libby’s best interest to set the expectation now that she was too busy to be endlessly chatty. She watched out of the corner of her eye as the one with the longer hair settled in to an open book next to his laptop, and the one with the shorter hair approached the counter. 

“Hi, Welcome to Roasted, May I take your order?”

She flashed a big warm smile, but was sure to be still wiping the cup while she said it, so she could put it down and face the man, making it clear she was in the middle of a chore. 

“I’m sure you can help me.”

He flashed a smile back at her. She registered he was going to be a flirt. Boy, he could not be barking up a wronger tree. She had about as much interest in flirting with him as she had in flirting with anybody. Which was about none. 

“Well, I guess we’ll have to see what you’re after.”

On the other hand, flirting paid the tip jar.

“Do you have anything special for a guy on a business trip who isn’t familiar with the menu?”

Another flirty smile.

“Well” she took a breath to pretend to consider “our special this week is a lavender latte with coconut milk. It’s really satisfying. It’ll keep you warm.”

“Oof, that sounds more like something my brother would drink.”

Libby glanced at the brother, nose in the book, looking very focused. She’d wished he’d come up to order. If she had a type, which she was very much not interested in categorizing it would simply be people with whom she could hold an interesting conversation. She bet he could form an opinion on the effects of economic suppression of the Millennial generation on traditional patterns of gentrification. Or something else fun to discuss. Libby glanced at the mugs she had been ‘drying’ super quickly in a way that she hoped came off as accidental.

“I’ll take a hot black coffee. My brother will take a large soy latte.”

He made a little face. The only thing Libby disliked more than unnecessarily artisanal coffee drinks were men who made a big show of fancy coffee insulting their manliness. This guy, with his boots, jeans, tee shirt under a jacket, short hair, his whole look had a sort of “me thinks he doth protest too much” vibe of heterosexuality to him. Oh well, the tip jar wasn’t about to pay itself.

“Can I get you anything else?”

“Well, if you are offering, you could maybe help me out while I’m in town. See, my brother and me are kind of history buffs, and your town seems like it would be right up our alley, if you know what I mean. Can you think of any places we might want to check out while we’re here?”

Libby put on her thoughtful face while she moved in the direction of the espresso machine to start the latte and get this conversation ended. There was the historical society of course, there was a colonial era reenactment camp on the edge of town that some people really enjoyed. And the public library was the oldest building in town. He listened while she steamed the soy milk and poured the hot coffee into one of her re-dried mugs. None of it really seemed to grab his attention. She wondered if he was lying about being interested in history, which seemed like a weird choice, or if he was interested in an era of history she hadn’t mentioned. God she hoped he wasn’t one of those distasteful history people who only seemed to care about the years from approximately 1935-1945. 

He took his coffees and returned to his seat. Libby started obviously restocking bottles of flavorings and syrups. Whatever they were working on took a couple of hours and at least one refill. Finally the man came back up and dropped five dollars in the tip jar, and then stuck out his hand.

“I’m Dean”

“Libby”

“Libby?”

“You got it”

“Well Libby, thanks for making my boring afternoon a little brighter. I’m planning to be out of town by tomorrow, but I’m sure you’re going to make someone a very happy valentine.”

“Well thank you Dean. And something tells me you’ll have no trouble finding a valentine wherever you end up tomorrow.”

The compliment/brush off was heard the way it was intended and they parted ways smiling. The end of her shift was tantalizingly close. 

-

Libby’s feet hurt. Now Libby was starving as well. Libby was a Millennial, and so she has 2 jobs. Currently she’s genuinely busy working her ass off at one of the local pubs. This one was in the refurbished train station from the early days of rail travel. The exposed brick of the walls and polished wooden floor boards were features. The Rail Pub, unlike the cafe, had low ceilings, cozy benches, and soft lighting. It was also very popular and super busy. 

An hour ago Libby had ordered herself a bowl of french fries that she had stashed in the kitchen and every time she got a moment she’d rush into the back, cram a couple now cold soggy fries into her mouth and run out. She’d used the 5$ from her cafe tip jar to pay for them because her boss was an asshole and also a Boomer and didn’t believe that employees needing to eat 3 meals a day was his problem, or needed addressing on work time. 

Libby had tomorrow off. She hadn’t asked for it specifically, but it was her turn in the rotation. Tomorrow, Valentines day, she had off from both jobs. She couldn’t easily recall the last time she had a full day off. It almost didn’t seem real. If she could just get through this shift she could go home for one full day. 

She had plans. Boy, did she have plans. First she was going to sleep until at least 10am. Then she was going to take the longest hottest shower she could stand. After that maybe she could find an unattached friend or two to meet her for a late lunch at the bagel place. Something affordable but not the coffee shop or pub. If not she could go by herself, but she hoped for a friend to chat with. Finally she was going to go home, curl up on the couch, make some ginger tea, binge watch the latest season of Great British Bake Off, and see if she couldn’t unearth her knitting needles. She could probably whip up a perfectly acceptable scarf in one season of GBBO. She’d been dying for the soothing back and forth rhythm of a scarf. A full day off was going to be so soothing for her tired brain. All she had to do was keep her server smile going for a few more hours. 

Libby was behind the converted ticket counter pouring drinks, opening beers, making change, and desperately dreaming of her congealed pile of fries when an unfamiliar voice said her name with surprise.

“Libby? You’re here too? Do you work everywhere in this town?”

She looked up to see the man from the cafe. A quick glance around didn’t turn up the man he’d referred to as his brother.

“Only the places that’ll pay me to hand out drinks.”

He chuckled, passed her some money and ordered a beer. He took it back to his seat. A few minutes later he was back.

“You got a long shift?”

“Probably going to be here until the pub closes tonight.”

In truth she was hoping things would slow a little after midnight and she could get sent home a little early, but she didn’t think he needed to know that. 

“That’s a long day for you. Can I buy you a drink? Or a snack?”

At the mention of food her stomach dropped and it felt like her insides hollowed out. It was a painful sensation. His offer seemed genuine and she was genuinely tempted, but the rules said no accepting food or drink from customers, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to open any further doors for interaction with this stranger. She did her best to hide her hunger, and doubled down on her professional smile. 

“Oh, thanks, you are too kind. Unfortunately there’s no eating or drinking on the job on threat of not having the job. I appreciate the thought though.”

He switched up his order from a beer to whiskey and went back to his seat. A burger and a few whiskey’s later and the customers were starting to thin out. Libby was beginning to worry that she’d get sent home early and he’d still be there. She was prepared to turn down his company at the end of her day, but she really didn’t want to have to. To her relief he got a phone call, talked for a couple minutes, settled up, left her a generous tip, shot her a quick “Happy Valentines Day” and hurried out of there. 

Half an hour later Libby’s wish came true and she was let out early. Joyfully she crammed the last handful of sad fries in her mouth, grabbed her purse and coat and flew out into the biting February cold night. It was around 1a.m. and officially Valentines day. She was free until 9A.M. Saturday. Over 24 hours. She was giddy. It was a short walk from the downtown pub to her apartment and she set off practically skipping.

5 minutes into her walk home she entered what counted as the sketchy part of her walk. A block or so of empty storefronts before she crossed over into the part of town that was mostly old houses converted into apartments. That area was mostly safe because it was a mix of off campus college students, families, the elderly, and working people like her. Her apartment was just a few blocks into that section. The top floor of a three story building. It wasn’t the nicest in this part of town, but it was far from the worst. Plus it had a little deck off of the kitchen that just fit a few chairs and a little table. 

The block of empty storefronts always felt a little unsafe because it was always poorly lit and mostly empty, so it caught Libby’s eye when one of the stores across the street seemed to be glowing a strange luminous blue. Libby walked down the sidewalk until she was directly across the street from the glowing window. 

The street was poorly lit so the eery blue lit up the big window showing the small empty front room of an office inside. There was carpeting, an office style desk against the back wall, and a fake potted plant next to the desk. There was also Dean grappling with a man and a woman. 

The blue appeared to be coming from the mysterious couple. They seemed to be covered in small dancing blue flames. The woman’s hair flowed with blue flame. They both appeared to be covered in tattoos that also glowed the same strange blue. The room was gently alight with the blue fire they produced. As Libby watched the man picked up Dean and threw him back against the desk. He slid off looking dazed. 

Libby’s feet took her a step forward. Someone should do something. She was instinctively reaching for her phone when a black classic muscle car slammed to a stop just outside the shop across the street. Dean’s brother jumped out carrying what seemed to be a very long knife that appeared to glow with a similar blue sheen. 

Libby turned away from the scene and resumed her walk home. Suddenly she was gripped with a terrifying clarity. Those two people were not human. No natural people glowed with fire and threw other humans so easily and casually. Whatever was happening in that room was WAY out of her league. She wasn’t really the praying type but sent out a little hopeful vibe into the universe for Dean and his brother’s safety. It was weird knowing the world had much stranger things in it than she thought, but she also knew her limits, and diving head first into some kind of unnatural fight was how people got killed in the first half of horror movies. Whatever it was, she was quite sure she could only make it worse.

Libby made some quick minor adjustments to her schedule. She’d take the long hot shower tonight and wash all the pub smells and strange occurrences off of her before bed, then she would sleep until at least 11a.m. She was sure she’d be wondering about the blue people in a corner of her brain for a while, but she had a Valentines date with her bed and she intended to keep it.

**Author's Note:**

> Once again this story was for @spncoldesthits. I'm familiar with them on tumblr, but I know they are other places too. Check out the collection here on AO3. It's the most fun!


End file.
